


between the shadow and the soul

by littlesnowpea



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crisis of Faith, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Gratuitous Use of Capital Letters, Idiots in Love, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Prayer, aziraphale experiences the mortifying ordeal of being known, changing sides, christianity but written by a non christian (me), crowley experiences the mortifying ordeal of being known, i'm taking many liberties, it can't be labeled slow burn because nothing burns slower than these two idiots, loose interpretation of christianity, specifically all of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 10:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: Every so often, Aziraphale tried to talk to God. He wasn’t an idiot, certainly not, he knew Heaven had no place for him anymore, but he couldn’t help but think--well, in all that time of living as God’s creation, he’d rather like to think She wouldn’t abandon him now. A part of him, a part that varied in size depending on the day, wanted to believe that Crowley’s question the night of the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, as they waited for the bus wastrue. That perhaps the Almighty meant for it to happen, just like this.So sometimes, Aziraphale tried.





	between the shadow and the soul

**Author's Note:**

> this is essentially a character study in losing and regaining faith. title from (xvii) i do not love you….. by pablo neruda
> 
> i know everyone and their mothers have used that poem for these man-shaped beings who are in love, but it’s just such an ineffable husbands poem, i swear. 
> 
> I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,  
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
> 
> I love you as the plant that never blooms  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
> 
> I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way
> 
> than this: where I does not exist, nor you,  
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,  
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
> 
> this is not my first fanfic by any stretch of the imagination but it is my first good omens fanfic. i've taken bits from both the show and the book, but mostly the show. i'm also not british so please excuse any glaring americanisms.
> 
> sorry about the tags.

Every so often, Aziraphale tried to talk to God. He wasn’t an idiot, certainly not, he knew Heaven had no place for him anymore, but he couldn’t help but think--well, in all that time of living as God’s creation, he’d rather like to think She wouldn’t abandon him now. A part of him, a part that varied in size depending on the day, wanted to believe that Crowley’s question the night of the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, as they waited for the bus was _true_. That perhaps the Almighty meant for it to happen, just like this. 

So sometimes, Aziraphale tried. 

\----

**two days after**

So Heaven didn’t have a trial for him. That was alright, really, what had Aziraphale expected? Gabriel wanted him dead, what else was new? Alright, Gabriel had never really tried before, but Aziraphale hadn’t been a traitor before either. 

“Not a nice word,” he mumbled, putting a book on a shelf in his dusty bookstore. Since he walked out of Hell in Crowley’s body, he’d been looking over his shoulder. His store had been closed since the not-Apocalypse. He didn’t think he could survive flinching every time the bell rang to announce a customer. 

At least he wasn’t alone. 

His gaze fell on the huge black snake sunning himself on Aziraphale’s windowsill. Crowley hadn’t left his side, not for a minute, since their dinner at the Ritz. He stayed with Aziraphale, even slept in Aziraphale’s bed while Aziraphale read the night away. Earlier that morning, he turned into a snake to take advantage of the sunshine. 

He looked to be asleep, or at least dozing. Aziraphale’s fingers itched to slide along those smooth as glass scales, longed to pluck Crowley up and drape him over his shoulders, to have him right there with him, to know he was safe. 

Every time he closed his eyes he saw that bathtub. He saw Michael. 

But Aziraphale didn’t know where they stood. He’d pushed Crowley away, kept him at more than an arm’s length for six thousand years, and he didn’t know if preventing the apocalypse was enough to shatter that barrier, or if it was one of those things they’d have to talk about eventually. 

Still, the urge remained. Aziraphale hardly wanted Crowley to leave his sight. He was haunted by the noises that other demon made while dying in holy water--Aziraphale felt awfully for not remembering his name, but the whole thing was rather traumatic. His mind kept substituting Crowley, kept inventing the screams Crowley would make. Gosh, the mind was a horrible thing sometimes. 

The sunlight glinted off those perfect scales and Aziraphale miracled a chair to sink into, to watch Crowley carefully but immediately be ready to look like he was doing anything but. He cast a furtive glance upward, debating.

Oh, Heaven, it couldn’t hurt. Either She’d hear or She wouldn’t, either She’d answer or She wouldn’t, but he felt like he had to say something. 

“I choose to believe this was your Plan,” he whispered, eyes tracing the lines of Crowley’s scales as he slept. “I choose to believe you meant for this to happen exactly as it happened. Because if you didn’t, I don’t know what to think. Except that I believe we did the right thing. These are Your creations, Lord, how--what kind of angel would I be if I weren’t to protect them? What kind of angels are any of those, only focused on getting revenge? I choose to believe we did the right thing, Lord, and if it wasn’t what you wanted, I understand.”

Aziraphale trailed off, glancing back up before softening his gaze on Crowley once more. Aziraphale saw so much in those scales; he saw the nebulas and stars Crowley helped created, he saw the smooth, inky blackness of the bottom of the sea, he saw a sunrise breaking a dark winter’s night. He saw so much his heart ached, and for a second, he could hardly breathe. 

“I have to ask You something,” Aziraphale pressed on. “No, I have to beg You for something. For mercy. Not for me. I know I will take what I must, whatever you deem right, but I want mercy for him. He’s not like other demons. He shouldn’t have Fallen to begin with. Lord, please. Whatever you do to me. Please spare him.”

Nobody answered. No bright light, no voice like a supernova. Just the quiet of the bookshop, the noise of the traffic outside. In the sunlight, Crowley shifted, light gleaming off him, and Aziraphale took a shaky breath. 

“Please,” he whispered, but he didn’t know who he was talking to anymore. 

\----

**two weeks after**

“You sun yourself even in your human form,” Aziraphale teased gently. Crowley looked at him over the top of his sunglasses before rolling his eyes, propping his head on his hands as he stretched out on his back on the picnic blanket, picnic basket at his feet, near-empty wine bottle at his elbow. Aziraphale let his gaze travel the length of Crowley’s lanky body and bit back his desire to touch, to press fingers in the pale hip jutting out under the black shirt. To trace the band of Crowley’s watch before gently taking his hand, smoothing his thumb over Crowley’s. 

_You go too fast for me, Crowley_ echoed in his head. He tried to shake it away. He leaned back, instead, glancing up at the sky as if he would see the army of Heaven staring down at him. He doubted very much they’d stay away long. They may believe he was immune to hellfire, but an angel’s wounded pride did not rest easy. 

“Angel,” Crowley said gently, impossibly gently. He was looking over the rim of his sunglasses again, looking at Aziraphale like he was an interesting puzzle Crowley was eager to solve. “Care to share your thoughts? You look like a lot is on your mind.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer at first, didn’t know how to, really. He just looked at Crowley, trying to memorize his face as if he couldn’t conjure up his image perfectly already. Crowley cocked his head, gaze still intent, and Aziraphale released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, shifting his hand until their pinkies touched. 

Crowley dropped his gaze to their hands and the look on his face when he looked back up was heart wrenchingly soft. Aziraphale’s fingers twitched with the urge to take Crowley’s sunglasses off, to look into his eyes for real. But even if they were alone in the park, which they decidedly weren’t, the sun would be too bright for Crowley’s eyes, so Aziraphale left them on.

“Nothing,” he answered, a bit belated, but Crowley was still looking at him and waiting. “Well. Everything.” 

“Nothing and everything,” Crowley mused. “I would ask you to elaborate but I think I understand.”

“It’s just,” Aziraphale said, gesturing at nothing. “They’ll never give up. And I don’t know what I can do to protect you.”

“Is that what you’ve been worried about lately?” Crowley asked gently. “You know there’s nothing we can do but take every moment we can and live in it. We know they’ll come back. But what else can we do?”

“There must be _something_,” Aziraphale said desperately. “If they put you in holy water I might just die.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale shook his head. “Hey. Look at me.”

Aziraphale dragged in a long breath he didn’t technically need before forcing his eyes up to meet Crowley’s. Crowley was looking over the top of his sunglasses again, beautiful eyes more golden than yellow, and Aziraphale inched his hand closer, until his was resting on top of Crowley’s. 

After a beat, Crowley slowly turned his hand, slow enough to give Aziraphale plenty of time to cry foul if he chose, which he didn’t. Long, elegant fingers tangled with his and Crowley gave his hand a squeeze. 

“There’s nothing you can do, angel,” he said softly. “I don’t want to see you hurt, either. I don’t want to see you burn. I don’t want to see you Fall. But it’s out of our control.”

“I don’t like it,” Aziraphale choked, and Crowley squeezed his hand again. 

“Me either,” he admitted. “But we can’t worry forever. We have life to enjoy as much as we can.”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded, sliding backwards until he was lying on his back next to Crowley, hands still clasped together, shoulders touching. Above them, the sky was mostly cloudless, with wisps of white tendrils looping about. Somewhere up there was a home Aziraphale could never return to. Somewhere up there was a family who wanted him gone. 

Crowley nudged him. 

“Did you know that humans think those clouds are made by the government?” he asked, a familiar teasing note in his voice. He was clearly trying to distract Aziraphale, and he latched onto it gratefully, forcing a smile. 

“Let me guess,” he said. “One of yours?”

“Angel, I am _shocked_ you would imply something so unsophisticated was my work,” Crowley said, grinning. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“You invented the--oh, what’s it called. The pictures, with the phones,” Aziraphale said, frowning as he searched for the word, just one among the countless modern words that baffled him.

“_Selfie_, Aziraphale, it’s called a selfie,” Crowley said. “And I will have you know that took meticulous planning to implement.”

“Oh really?” Aziraphale asked, amused. “Do tell.”

“It didn’t even start with mobile phones,” Crowley said, gesturing at the sky for emphasis. “Humans have been looking at themselves in different forms of media for centuries. _Centuries_, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiled as Crowley prattled on, drawn in on one of his rare tangents, clearly trying hard to distract Aziraphale. Aziraphale had heard this particular rant before, so he didn’t listen fully, just looked over at Crowley as he talked. His red hair was rumpled from lying in one place too long, and the sunglasses glinted in the afternoon sun. His hand was soft in Aziraphale’s, and if Aziraphale concentrated, he could feel that boundless love that scared him so badly, coming off Crowley in waves. 

He didn’t doubt for a second Crowley would sacrifice himself for Aziraphale. Not even for a moment. Aziraphale hoped Crowley knew the feeling was mutual--if Hell came and told Aziraphale they would leave Crowley alone if he walked back into hellfire, Aziraphale would do it. 

Not for the first time, he stuck on that word. Love. Angels were beings of love, at least they were supposed to be. Aziraphale used that as an excuse, a veneer over the love he held for Crowley--he loved all of God’s creations and Crowley, after all, was one of them. For so long Aziraphale had beaten down any hint of other reasons for his affection for Crowley, too cowardly, too frightened to admit to it, even to himself. Admitting it to himself was admitting it before God, at least that’s what Aziraphale always believed, but now, after everything that happened, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he wanted to keep it quiet. 

Crowley’s face was animated as he explained the finer points of that selfie nonsense, not looking at Aziraphale but knowing Aziraphale was there, holding his hand and listening. He had such faith in Aziraphale, even when Aziraphale gave him no reason to believe in him, Crowley still did. Crowley could have run off, saved himself from Hell’s wrath, but he wouldn’t go without Aziraphale, and Aziraphale didn’t want him to, anyway. 

He loved Crowley.

The words made him a little breathless, made his eyes sting a bit with unshed tears--curse this body for being able to cry--and he wanted, right then, more than anything, to lean over and press his lips to Crowley’s, gentle but sure. 

_You go too fast for me, Crowley_. Oh, now wasn’t the time, Crowley deserved more than that, he deserved--he deserved--well, Aziraphale clearly had to think about it more, but he deserved more than a kiss in the park for Aziraphale to prove his love. Not that Aziraphale thought Crowley wouldn’t believe him, but because Crowley deserved to know all the things Aziraphale tried to keep himself from thinking for six thousand years. Since Eden, even. 

“And vanity, ooh vanity, that was the ultimate goal, wasn’t it?” Crowley said. “Although I still think it’s a bit hypocritical to give humans bodies and be angry at them for appreciating them.”

Crowley shouldn’t have Fallen. All he did was ask too many questions. 

_Why did you let him Fall? _ The question was in his mind before he could prevent it, but it didn’t matter. Aziraphale had to ask, anyway. _The others, I can see why they Fell. Some of them truly do not have love in their hearts. I still think the war was a bad thing to happen, I still think we could have evenly shared Heaven, but if angels had to Fall, why him? As much as he tries to pretend there is, there really isn’t an evil bone in his body. He loves your creations as much as I do. Why did you let him Fall?_

“So now it’s everywhere,” Crowley declared. “And it was all my doing.”

“How charming,” Aziraphale said dryly, and Crowley made a face. “I’m very proud of you, dear.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Crowley pointed out. “That was evil, what I did.”

“I’m sure it was,” Aziraphale said, and squeezed Crowley’s hand gently. “I’m very sure it was.”

\----

**one month later**

Rains fell early in London this year, though whether it was supernatural or not was up for debate. Aziraphale had reopened his shop, but the rain kept most customers away, which was fine by him. He looked up from his books as the shop door bell dinged and Crowley stepped in, dripping wet. 

“Only refuge was a church,” he grunted, snapping his fingers and instantly drying himself and the small puddle he’d made on the floor. “Sky just opened right up, didn’t it?”

“It was in the forecast, dear,” Aziraphale pointed out, and Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Okay, angel,” he said, making a show of being put out. He snapped his fingers again and a plastic bag appeared in his hand--his purchases, briefly miracled away to protect them from the rain, Aziraphale assumed.

“So I thought sushi would be nice tonight,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale’s heart glowed. Crowley didn’t eat, which meant he was just deciding what _Aziraphale_ would like, and it was the tiniest things that made Aziraphale feel like he was soaring. 

“Glasses,” Aziraphale said, suddenly overcome with a need to see Crowley’s eyes. Crowley rolled his eyes again but took them off, lying them on the bookshelf. “How positively delightful, dear. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley grumbled, but there was a small smile playing at his lips. “What would you say to lighting a fire tonight, angel?”

“I would say that was an excellent idea,” Aziraphale said. “Would you like to play some of your bebop on the record player?”

Crowley rolled his eyes a third time but he was grinning fully now, aware he was being teased. He set the bag of sushi on Aziraphale’s desk, poking books aside to make room for him to sit on it, too, ignoring Aziraphale’s disapproving glare. 

“No bebop necessary,” Crowley said. “Let’s just be together.”

“I love being together,” Aziraphale said before he could help himself. “You know I so love being together.”

Crowley’s face softened as he looked at Aziraphale, eyes so full of love it almost hurt to look at. The color and pupils reminded Aziraphale he was a demon, at least technically, but Aziraphale wanted to scream to anyone who would listen that Crowley did _not_ belong in Hell. 

“I do know, angel,” Crowley said. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk about tonight.”

Aziraphale froze, a bucket of cold water thrown over that warm fire in his heart. Was--was Crowley about to suggest they go back to seperate lives? Was Crowley tired of being around Aziraphale every day and every night, tired of sleeping in the same bed and waking up pressed against each other? Oh, maybe Aziraphale left too many words unsaid, maybe one of those mornings, tangled up and sleepy, Aziraphale should have said something. Should have told Crowley how he felt.

Perhaps now it was too late.

“No,” Crowley said, correctly interpreting the look Aziraphale was sure was on his face. “No, angel, no, nothing bad, I promise.”

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times, before swallowing past an impossibly dry throat and nodding. 

“Oh,” was all he could say, but Crowley seemed to understand, crossing to Aziraphale and cupping his face in his hands. 

“Nothing bad,” he promised. “We don’t have to talk about it at all if you don’t want.”

Aziraphale shook his head, managing to look up into Crowley’s eyes and hold his gaze. 

“No,” he said. “If--if it’s nothing bad, we can--we can talk.”

Crowley smiled, impossibly soft and gentle. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, swiping thumbs across Aziraphale’s cheeks. 

Hysterically, Aziraphale composed a message to the Almighty herself. 

_I don’t know what I did to deserve him, but I refuse to lose him, Lord. I refuse._

\----

**one month, four hours, three rounds of sushi, and a bottle of wine later**

Aziraphale wasn’t drunk, he was more _pleasantly tipsy_, in a good kind of way. Crowley had brought him all his favorites, and looked pleased at Aziraphale’s reaction, so much so Aziraphale miracled up one of Crowley’s favorite wines, making that soft look cross his face once again.

The problem with being _pleasantly tipsy_ is that it also came along with slightly lower guards and loud thoughts about how soft Crowley’s hair looked in the firelight and how much Aziraphale wanted to run his hands through it. He swallowed the last of the wine in his glass and Crowley lazily refilled it as Aziraphale sat back, releasing a slow breath. 

“Remember in Rome?” he asked, and Crowley raised an eyebrow in question, taking a sip of his own wine. The sunglasses were still off--Aziraphale thought it was a miracle Crowley had allowed them to stay off for so long, but he wasn’t questioning it--and his eyes glinted beautifully. He really and truly glowed, and Aziraphale tried not to cross the room and kiss him. 

“What about Rome?” Crowley asked, when Aziraphale failed to elaborate. Aziraphale took a long sip of wine, drumming his fingers on his thigh. Truly, what was about to leave his mouth was something along the lines of _you looked as gorgeous then as you do now. How do you always look so gorgeous? How can I deserve you? _

“We had oysters,” Aziraphale said, instead of any of that. “It was the first time we really did something together. I’m--I’m glad we did.”

Crowley fixed him with another soft smile, tilting his head to consider Aziraphale. What he was considering, Aziraphale didn’t know, but he fought the urge to squirm under that gaze all the same. He felt like he was pinned in place by a simple gaze, like the heavens could open up and rain revenge on them and he wouldn’t be able to move as long as Crowley was looking at him like that. 

“I’m glad we did, too,” Crowley said, before abruptly standing and looking in feigned interest at a bookshelf. Aziraphale allowed him the respite, drinking his wine and watching him peruse. 

“You know I can’t read any of this, right?” Crowley asked suddenly, and he sounded a bit bitter. “I’ve always thought my eyes were another punishment She laid upon me. Colorblind, unable to handle bright lights, and it’s near impossible to read. Taking my wings wasn’t enough for Her, I guess.”

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Aziraphale muttered into his wine. Crowley scoffed, but Aziraphale continued before he could say anything. “I’ve always thought that was nonsense.”

“What, the scripture or the concept?” Crowley asked, sounding thrown. Aziraphale shrugged. 

“Both, I suppose,” he said. “The concept...well, I suppose that lies with the Lord and Her capacity to take things away at the drop of the hat. Never sat well with me.”

“Never sat well?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale shrugged again. “Angel, She sent a flood to wipe out humans. Children! Innocent people! All because She got a bit _tetchy_. That sounds like exactly the type of thing She would subscribe to.”

“I didn’t want the war,” Aziraphale said. “I mean, obviously not the one we just derailed, but the first one as well. I didn’t think--it wasn’t fair to punish angels for asking questions. If She wanted angels to be robots obeying her every command, She could have created us that way. But She gave us emotions and feelings and thoughts and then punished the ones She didn’t like. It never sat right with me.”

“Don’t,” Crowley said sharply, crossing the room and sinking to his knees in front of Aziraphale. “Don’t ask too many questions, angel, I will not have you Fall as well. You have no idea what Hell can do.”

“I’ve been there, dear,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I have an idea.”

“_Don’t_,” Crowley insisted. “You never know when you’ve asked one question too many until it’s too late. She didn’t exactly warn me. I was an angel one day. My wings were broken and I was Falling the next. I still don’t know which question did it.”

“You weren’t meant to Fall,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You’re a lousy demon.”

Crowley cracked the ghost of a smile. On his knees he was at face level with Aziraphale, so close that Aziraphale could have leaned across the distance and kissed him, could have felt what Crowley’s lips felt like under his, but he didn’t. 

“You’re a lousy angel,” Crowley retorted, but it was fond. “But I still don’t want you to Fall.”

“Enough with the questions?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley nodded, standing.

“Enough with the questions,” he confirmed. “There’s still more sushi, if you want.”

_Would you really let me Fall?_ he found himself praying as Crowley crossed the room to the wine, refilling his glass. _For asking questions? Is that really the only reason Crowley Fell? He deserved better than that, Lord. He gave everything to protect Your creations. Is that really the reason he Fell?_

Aziraphale didn’t feel a burning in his wings, he didn’t smell sulphur or hellfire, he didn’t feel like something was wrong, deep inside, so he figured he hadn’t crossed whatever arbitrary line She drew quite yet. He watched Crowley take a sip of his wine and followed suit, a tiny part of him hoping She would answer someday. 

Even if the answer wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted to hear.

\----

**two months after**

“Angel, look,” Crowley said in the coffeeshop they were sat in for breakfast. He had his own tea in front of him, but, as per usual, he wasn’t eating the pastries he’d brought to the table. He held his mobile out for Aziraphale to peek at--it looked like a picture of Adam, dressed as the Devil.

Aziraphale scoffed. 

“Really,” he said, but it was fond. “That boy has cheek.”

“Wouldn’t want him any other way,” Crowley said, shrugging. He typed away at his keyboard as Aziraphale took a drink of his tea--gently sweet with a touch of milk, perfect. A thought occurred. 

“What are you telling him?” Aziraphale asked, narrowing his eyes. “I hope you are not implying I condone that costume.”

“Would I ever do that?” Crowley said, all faux innocent, and Aziraphale poked his chest. 

“Yes, you old serpent,” he admonished. “It’s practically your specialty.”

“You flatter me,” Crowley said, deadpan, but put his phone away. “I just told him to stick it to the man, that’s all.”

“_Stick it to the man_,” Aziraphale muttered. “Ridiculous.”

“Your tea is getting cold,” Crowley pointed out. Rolling his eyes, Aziraphale took a sip. 

Outside, the weather was quite blustery. Leaves blew across the street and the trees shook with the breeze. It was, in fact, quite perfect autumn weather. Aziraphale wondered if Adam had a hand in that, but elected not to ask. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Crowley said. “We got a letter in the post. In the _post_. What year is it again?”

“Stick to the point, my dear,” Aziraphale said. Crowley huffed. 

“It was from Anathema,” he said, and Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow in interest. “Apparently that boy proposed to her.”

“That boy has a name,” Aziraphale pointed out, and Crowley grumbled something under his breath. “He’s not connected to Shadwell anymore, darling.”

“Apparently, they’re having a wedding,” Crowley said. “In December.”

“Oh, just in time for Christmas,” Aziraphale said, delighted. Crowley’s features hadn’t changed, and Aziraphale frowned, excitement ebbing away. “Crowley?”

Crowley sighed, pushing his sunglasses up to rub at his eyes, frustrated. 

“It’s at a church,” he finally said, sounding disappointed. Aziraphale’s heart sank. “You’d better figure out how to work a camera by then, so you can take pictures.”

“Did you call her?” Aziraphale asked. “It’s not too late to let her know. Maybe she can change it.”

“I’m not upheaving her whole wedding because I can’t walk in a bloody church,” Crowley snapped. “Who am I, even? I’m nobody.”

“You are not,” Aziraphale said sharply. “You are not nobody, especially not to her. She’s quite fond of you. She would be terribly upset if you couldn’t come.”

Crowley scowled and Aziraphale sighed, reaching across the table to rest his hand over Crowley’s. Crowley’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t pull away. 

“And you would be sad to miss it,” Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley’s mouth twitched again. “If you like, I can speak with her. I’ll make it my idea.”

“Angel,” Crowley sighed, but Aziraphale pressed on. 

“My dear,” he said firmly. “I cannot imagine a world without you in it. That’s why I helped you save it. And you mean a lot to so many people. Anathema wants you at the wedding. That’s why she invited you. And she would feel awful if you didn’t come because of her planning, even if she didn’t know. Let me tell her. Please.”

Crowley’s lips quirked into a small smile. He turned his hand so he could tangle his fingers with Aziraphale’s, giving him a small squeeze. 

“It took you six thousand years to read me like one of your books,” he said, and Aziraphale shook his head. 

“You’re worth more to me than all my books combined,” he said firmly. “I just want to make sure you know it.”

“With you, how could I forget?” Crowley said quietly, and Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his throat as Crowley lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s. “Alright, angel. You win. But make sure it’s not too much trouble for her.”

“I’m sure it will be miraculously easy to do,” Aziraphale said smoothly, and Crowley grinned, quickly, like he fought it but lost. “And if she can’t, I won’t go without you.”

“Why on Earth not?” Crowley asked, frowning. Aziraphale forced himself to keep a steady gaze on Crowley, to speak firmly but kindly. 

“Because I no longer want to be anywhere you are not,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley let out a harsh breath. 

“Angel,” he breathed, then cleared his throat. “I, uh. Am getting more tea. Would you like more?”

“I have plenty,” Aziraphale said gently, and let Crowley walk to the front of the shop, allowing him to compose himself. Aziraphale kept his eye on him as he waited in line, taking a long, slow drink of his tea as he did. 

_Lord?_ he asked, knowing he wouldn’t get a response, but trying anyway. _Let him know how much he is loved. Please. He is so loved. He deserves to feel it. Let him feel it. _

Outside, the world kept moving; cars drove down the busy street, the wind blew, people hurried to their destinations. But Aziraphale kept watching Crowley, feeling warm and so _thankful_ this was his life. 

\----

**four months after**

“Darling,” Aziraphale called, leaning against the door frame. “I’d rather not leave London proper at ninety miles an hour.”

“I’m coming, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, sounding annoyed. He was probably still fussing with his outfit, unsure how he should look at a wedding. Aziraphale knew he also felt self-conscious about the venue adjustment specifically for him, even though Newt had only suggested a church out of token obligation to his mom. 

Aziraphale told him over and over that Anathema didn’t mind, not in the slightest, that she wasn’t thrilled with the church, either, but Crowley didn’t have fantastic self-esteem on the best of days. Aziraphale sighed, stepping into Crowley’s flat and making his way to the bedroom, where he knew Crowley would be.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently. Crowley was sat on the bed, turning his sunglasses over and over in his hands, staring at them intently, and Aziraphale carefully sat beside him, resting a hand on his back, right above where his wings would manifest. Crowley twitched a little but did not otherwise react. “Crowley.”

“Yes, angel?” Crowley asked, voice flat. Aziraphale sighed and gently rubbed Crowley’s back, up and down in slow, soothing motions, until Crowley took a deep breath and let it out, shuddering. “I’m fine.”

“Sure looks like it,” Aziraphale said. “Talk to me.”

Crowley sighed again, the glasses falling from his hands to the floor as he scrubbed hands over his face tiredly. 

“I won’t know anyone there,” he finally said, looking anywhere but Aziraphale. 

“Not true,” Aziraphale said firmly. “You know Newt and Anathema, and Adam and the Them will be there, too. Nobody knows absolutely everyone at events, Crowley.”

Crowley scoffed. 

“My point is I will either be the weirdo wearing sunglasses inside or the weirdo with fucked up eyes,” he snapped, before his shoulders slumped. “‘M sorry.”

Aziraphale kept rubbing his back until some of the tension leaked from Crowley’s posture and he leaned a little into Aziraphale’s touch, like a cat asking to be pet. 

“Why is this bothering you now, my dear?” Aziraphale finally asked quietly. “You’ve worn your sunglasses inside for years without worrying about it.”

“Because before all I had to worry about was you,” Crowley said. “And I knew you understood why I did it. But now we’ll be up next to Newton and Anathema and--”

Crowley cut himself off, gritting his jaw. He moved to stand but Aziraphale took his shoulder gently, pushing him back down. Crowley made an annoyed sound but didn’t try and fight him off. 

“And now you’re worried it’ll reflect poorly on Anathema?” Aziraphale guessed. “And you’ve never liked people staring, dear, I know that.”

He could tell from Crowley’s subtle hitched breath that he’d hit the issue on the head, so to speak, and he let Crowley sit in silence for a moment before speaking again. 

“Anathema understands,” he said gently. “As does Newt and everyone else you already know there. Did you know that I wasn’t even the first person to call and tell Anathema the wedding had to be moved?”

Crowley huffed a tired laugh.

“Really?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded even though he knew Crowley couldn’t see him. 

“Really,” he confirmed. “Adam called first. Apparently along with his friends. They all told Anathema off.”

“Told her off?” Crowley asked, and there was a hint of a smile in those words, Aziraphale could hear it. “I’m sure that went over well.”

“She took it in stride,” Aziraphale said. “By the time I’d called her, she already had moved it to the Acorn Barn.”

Crowley still wasn’t looking at him, so Aziraphale sighed and gently took ahold of his chin, turning his gaze until he was looking Crowley in the eyes. 

“Darling, wear your glasses or don’t,” he said. “Even if you don’t, the English are too polite to say anything. And I will be there all night, no matter what.”

The first real smile crossed Crowley’s face, and he leaned in until their foreheads were touching. Aziraphale smiled back, helpless as he always was, and squeezed Crowley’s shoulder. 

“You really are an angel,” Crowley said. 

“At this point, I’m only _your_ angel,” Aziraphale replied. “Come on, we’ve got to get a wiggle on.”

Crowley groaned, even as he stood when Aziraphale did, taking the glasses Aziraphale had scooped off the floor.

“Angel, please, update your vocabulary,” he begged, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes, taking Crowley’s hand and leading him from the room even as he continued to complain. “It’s 2019, nobody says _wiggle on_.”

“Just focus on driving us to Oxfordshire, please,” Aziraphale said primly. Crowley groaned again, even as he pushed the door open and held it for Aziraphale to walk through. The Bentley was _miraculously_ out front, and Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale seemingly out of habit, a habit Aziraphale did not call Crowley on. 

Aziraphale watched Crowley cross to the driver’s side and sent up a nasty thought to God almost before he realized what he was doing. 

_He did not deserve what You did to him._

Crowley started the car and tore down the street at his usual speed, glasses on but posture more relaxed. Aziraphale exhaled slowly and sat back in his seat for the ride. 

\----

**four months and one day after**

The wedding was beautiful. Even Crowley, who was not prone to calling anything beautiful, thought it was beautiful. Aziraphale had known him for six thousand years, he could tell what Crowley was thinking pretty much always. 

Anathema, never one for tradition, wore a lovely black gown, all in lace, and Adam held her train as she walked with such sweet pride it made Aziraphale smile. She and Newt both looked so happy standing across from each other, looking at each other like no one else existed on Earth, that Aziraphale _had_ to murmur a quiet blessing, just under his breath, so no one but Crowley heard. 

He felt a small miracle come off Crowley and knew it was for the pair. No one was up above or below counting their miracles and such anymore. Aziraphale felt bold in doing whatever he wanted, until God decided to say something or another. 

The food was decent, for a wedding at least, and the alcohol was plenty. Aziraphale and Crowley hung off to the side, almost-but-not-quite touching, watching the humans make fools of themselves the longer the night wore on. Crowley looked amused and Aziraphale decided not to call him on the mischief he could see all over his face. 

He ended up wearing his sunglasses. Aziraphale didn’t mind--it made the tense line of his shoulders relax a little. He was calmer than he had been in his flat yesterday, and Aziraphale knew retiring to their inn tonight would help as well. 

(Anathema offered her spare room, but she offered in the kind of way where you hope the other party says no because you really don’t want to do it but it would be rude not to offer. Aziraphale didn’t blame her.)

“There’s my smile,” Aziraphale whispered as it played across Crowley’s face. 

“Shut up,” Crowley replied, but it was fond. Not that Crowley would ever admit it. He rolled his shoulders and Aziraphale could tell his wings were bothering him. It must be time for a preen. 

“I can do it when we get back,” he offered. Crowley’s smile changed to something softer, warmer, and he peeked over the rims of his sunglasses with so much love in his eyes all the angels Aziraphale knew could take notes. 

“You don’t have to,” Crowley said, but the want was in his voice, the longing. Preening was a social activity that Crowley never got in Hell. Aziraphale was determined to never deprive him of it again. 

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “But I want to. Shush.”

Crowley smiled again and Aziraphale’s heart did a series of strange gymnastics moves. Their hands brushed and Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat as Crowley slowly but deliberately turned his hand to tangle their fingers together, palms pressing close. 

Crowley said nothing, just continued watching Aziraphale with his soft, loving look, and this was the moment they would kiss, if this was one of those human movies Aziraphale would never admit to watching. This was the moment they’d step closer and kiss and the music would swell and the credits would roll over a happy montage of the rest of their lives and--

“Excuse me,” someone said, clearly drunk to the point of no return, and annoyance flashed across Crowley’s face. Aziraphale’s heart soared--was he feeling it, too? Before they’d been interrupted?

“Can I help you?” Aziraphale asked, facing the man, more sharp than he’d intended. The man hiccuped and pointed at Crowley.

“Jus’ wonderin’,” he slurred, and Aziraphale knew with a sudden sickening jolt what the man was about to say. Uncharacteristically, he reacted before he’d thought about it, casting a mean miracle. It worked--the man trailed off, looking abruptly green, and Crowley had the presence of mind to grab the man’s shoulders and spin him around before he vomited rather spectacularly across the floor. 

Crowley tugged on Aziraphale’s hand and they quickly backed away, letting the man’s relatives roll their eyes and collect him before he embarrassed himself further. 

“That wasn’t very angelic,” Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale made a face. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, and Crowley grinned a little, tugging his close to drape his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, letting it go, and Aziraphale relaxed into Crowley’s easy embrace, watching Anathema and Newt sway on the dance floor, lost in each other. For a split second, Aziraphale imagined himself and Crowley in their position, pressed together as closely as possible, not caring about a single other thing in the universe but this moment. He wanted it so badly it almost hurt, wanted it so badly he _ached_ for it, and, like magic, Adam appeared at his elbow. 

He was dressed in the finest clothes a parent can wrangle their eleven year old in; that was to say, slacks and a button down that was only slightly wrinkled. Aziraphale was fond despite his best efforts. 

“You and Crowley should go dance,” he suggested, eyes downright twinkling, and Aziraphale didn’t look at Crowley, knew his desire was all over his face, but Crowley squeezed his hand. “Please? For me?”

“Only for you,” Crowley said, and surprise hit Aziraphale. Before he could ask, or do much of anything, really, Crowley was gently leading him by the hand to the dance floor, pausing only to pull him close, pressed against Aziraphale from their chests to their hips. Aziraphale finally managed to look Crowley in the eyes, and Crowley looked uncertain but hopeful. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, in a tone that said _oh please, please let it be okay_. Aziraphale swallowed and nodded, letting Crowley lead him in what was, at best, a slow sway, but it hardly mattered. Nothing else mattered, not a single thing, just like Aziraphale had been quietly longing for. All he could feel was Crowley, every single place Crowley’s body touched his burned in the best way. In the kind of way that made Aziraphale want to tilt his head and kiss Crowley. 

Crowley smelled like he always smelled, like earth and a soft, heady cologne that went straight to Aziraphale’s head. Aziraphale loved the way his scent had permeated the flat above Aziraphale’s shop, the sheets on the bed that never saw use until Crowley all but moved in after the not-Apocalypse. It was familiar, grounding. It reminded him whose side he was on, really. 

Aziraphale looked up, and Crowley was watching him, sunglasses just low enough for Aziraphale to see flashes of gold. Crowley said _yellow_, but Aziraphale had always thought _gold_. Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath, and, like Crowley had tempted him even though Aziraphale knew the demon would never, he strained up a little to press his lips to Crowley’s. 

Crowley froze, grip going tight on Aziraphale’s hand, and for one sickening second, Aziraphale thought he’d misread this after all. That Crowley didn’t love him the way Aziraphale loved him, that Aziraphale just ruined the only thing left in his life.

But then Crowley exhaled and tilted his head, deepened the kiss to something just bordering inappropriate for public, but Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to care very much. It was just heat and warmth and Aziraphale was dizzy with it before he knew what was happening. 

They broke away, gasping for breath because their bodies demanded it, and Aziraphale was acutely aware of Anathema, grinning like she’d known this was going to happen and she was delighted she was right. 

Crowley didn’t seem to notice anyone at all, still staring at Aziraphale, eyes wide. Aziraphale swallowed, leaning up to press a gentle, chaste kiss to Crowley’s cheek, and all the breath left Crowley in one shuddering go. 

“Back to the inn, then?” Crowley asked, voice somewhat hoarse, and Aziraphale swallowed and nodded. 

_Will I Fall for this?_ he asked God as Crowley led him from the party, still gripping his hand. _Is it wrong that I don’t care if I do?_

He didn’t feel the yank of Her Grace being ripped from his core, he didn’t feel like he was burning from the inside, and he knew his wings were still white, so he supposed it wasn’t happening yet. 

He found it hard to care if it did happen. Not if it meant having Crowley the way he’d wanted to since 1941.

\----

** four months, one day, and a twenty minute drive at 90 down narrow streets after**

Standing a few feet from Crowley in their room felt like both too much and too little distance between them. Aziraphale fidgeted and Crowley watched him with a soft, awed expression, golden eyes wide, sunglasses abandoned on the nightstand. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do--reach across the distance and touch Crowley? Lead him forward, press their lips together again? The heat that had built in him since their first kiss was still growing, and it was running out of room. 

He had to do something. 

“Crowley,” he said, voice cracking in a way most unbecoming of an angel, if he was caring about that sort of thing nowadays, which he was finding it very difficult to do. Crowley tilted his head, listening intently, but for what, Aziraphale wasn’t sure. “Dear boy. Do you--that is to say, would you--”

“Yes,” Crowley said, interrupting Aziraphale before he could go any further and embarrass himself. “Whatever you want, it’s a yes, angel. Whatever you want.”

“What if I don’t know what I want?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley smiled, one of his soft, sweet, near-angelic smiles Aziraphale didn’t get to see too often. He reached one slim, pale hand out to Aziraphale, and waited, uncharacteristically patient, for Aziraphale to lift one shaking hand and take it. 

“It’s alright,” Crowley said gently. “You haven’t done it before, I take it?”

“Not when it mattered,” Aziraphale whispered, because it was true. He’d technically _done_ this before, but it was always instructed from Above and it was like he’d checked out of the whole experience. Aziraphale chanced a glance into Crowley’s eyes. “You?”

Crowley shook his head. 

“Not when it mattered,” he replied, an echo of Aziraphale’s words. “You’re the only one that matters.”

“Blasphemous,” Aziraphale somehow managed to tease. A smile quirked Crowley’s lips and before either of them could think too much, they were moving, two stars colliding, Crowley’s hands rucking up Aziraphale’s shirt, Aziraphale burying his hands in Crowley’s hair. 

The sensation of Crowley touching a part of Aziraphale he usually kept under several stiff layers made him gasp, squirming a bit in Crowley’s sure grip. Crowley pulled away from kissing Aziraphale breathless to trail little nips down his neck. Aziraphale tugged on Crowley’s hair sharply without meaning to as Crowley hit a surprisingly sensitive spot. Instead of the expected hissed curse, Crowley shuddered, burying a low moan into Aziraphale’s neck, sending a thrill up Aziraphale’s spine. 

Slowly, he pulled Crowley’s hair again, and this time Crowley _keened_, suddenly pressed up against Aziraphale from head to toe, grip tight on Aziraphale’s waist. Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s temple, sliding a hand down Crowley’s back to press lightly, teasingly on the muscles that hid his wings in this dimension. 

Crowley gasped and twitched, and when Aziraphale leaned back to fuss with the buttons on Crowley’s shirt, Crowley whined. 

“Patience,” Aziraphale scolded, as if he wasn’t half a second from miracling them both naked right that instant, and Crowley whined again, tugging at Aziraphale’s bow tie until it came undone, leaning in to drag his tongue down the newly-bared planes of Aziraphale’s throat.

“You’re--ah--not helping me go faster,” Aziraphale grunted, fingers slipping on Crowley’s buttons. He could feel Crowley smirk against his skin, pressing teeth lightly but not biting.

“Patience,” Crowley mocked, and Aziraphale snapped his fingers. Now Crowley was under him on the bed, all that smooth skin right there for Aziraphale to touch, to explore the hard lines and soft valleys of Crowley’s body, a body Aziraphale thought he’d never get to see. He slowly spread his hands across Crowley’s chest, mapping out a route across Crowley into the stars.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whined, arching up underneath him. “Angel, you can tease me next time, don’t leave me hanging here--_fuck_! Fuck, angel, don’t stop!”

Aziraphale had no intention of stopping and he hummed reassurances into Crowley’s left nipple, which was currently under his tongue. Crowley did not appear to hear that message, based on the sharp cries and squirming he was doing, but that was alright. Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t stop.

He snuck a glance upward, grinning as he took in Crowley’s expression: one wrecked with desire and disbelief and Aziraphale had wanted to see that for _so long_. He dragged his tongue back up Crowley’s chest and kissed him, slotting a thigh in between Crowley’s legs so he could grind up against it. He’d made an Effort, which was not unusual. Efforts made the clothes they wore fit better, after all, but Crowley’s was partly a vanity project as well. It was too pretty to be merely functional. 

Either way, the cock he’d manifested was hard, head leaking, leaving wet streaks across Aziraphale’s thigh. Aziraphale didn’t expect the clench in his gut once he saw it, but as Crowley arched up underneath him, he felt it again. 

“Azi-zira-angel-” Crowley was panting, voice cracking. “Not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” Aziraphale asked, then nuzzled into the hollow of Crowley’s throat and nipped his skin. Crowley groaned, hands going everywhere, like he was desperate to find someplace to hold on, like that was all he had in him. 

“Not fair,” Crowley repeated, grinding against Aziraphale’s thigh in a way that suggested it would be fairly difficult for him to stop. His eyes were screwed shut and Aziraphale dropped kisses across Crowley’s cheeks before miracling his hand wet and slippery and taking both their cocks in hand at once. 

Crowley made a sound like Aziraphale had knocked the breath out of him. His hips twitched forward, into the friction and heat Aziraphale had provided, and by the time his head bowed back, back arched, Aziraphale wasn’t paying attention to much of anything anymore. 

He was slightly disappointed. He had kind of wanted to have sex _all the way_ with Crowley, but right then he felt like if he stopped touching Crowley’s cock, he might actually discorporate on the spot. Something was building at the base of his spine, crashing upwards like a gravity defying waterfall. His wings beat in another dimension, threatening to come free and burst out with a dazzle of light as Aziraphale lost more control over himself. 

Crowley’s face was screwed up in a look that might have been pain but was probably just a desperate bid to not come immediately. His hands were twisted in the sheets, head thrown back, lip trapped between his teeth. 

“Angel,” he gasped, like a prayer. “Angel, angel, angel--”

Aziraphale twisted his wrist and Crowley came with a choked off sob, twitching in Aziraphale’s grip as he stroked Crowley through it. Crowley was panting, golden eyes half cracked to look at him, and he gave Aziraphale the softest, dopiest grin Aziraphale had ever seen and that was it. Aziraphale came hard, whole body going tense, until he almost collapsed on top of Crowley, both of them panting together. 

Slowly, Crowley’s hands came up to tangle in Aziraphale’s hair and Aziraphale smiled into Crowley’s neck before lifting his head up to kiss Crowley properly. Crowley kissed back, heat and intent in every calculated swipe of his tongue, and by the time he pulled away, Aziraphale was properly dazed. 

“That was fun,” Crowley said, smirking. “I have an idea.”

Azirapahle laughed as Crowley rolled them over, pinning Aziraphale to the bed and straddling him. Aziraphale’s hands rested on Crowley’s hips as he grinned up helplessly. 

“You’re lucky refractory periods are only for humans,” he said, and Crowley grinned cheekily, laughing even as Aziraphale tried to kiss him. 

Nothing mattered outside this room. Nothing mattered but Crowley, who was busy trying to maintain his precarious victory atop Aziraphale. 

Nothing would ever matter like Crowley mattered. 

\----

**five months after**

“What are you reading?” Crowley asked sleepily. He was lounging in that distinctly Crowley way, like his inner serpent was controlling how to make Crowley’s human body comfortable. His face was pressed to Aziraphale’s stomach, one hand wound in Aziraphale’s coat. Aziraphale looked down at him fondly, stroking a hand through Crowley’s hair.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Aziraphale teased, and Crowley huffed, breath warm even through Aziraphale’s two layers. He cracked one golden eye open and looked up at Aziraphale, who smiled warmly down at him. 

“It’s not _Hamlet_, is it?” Crowley asked. “I regret that miracle.”

“Oh you do not,” Aziraphale said. “You can’t lie to me, Crowley, I see right through you.”

“Yeah?” Crowley asked, then opened both eyes, staring Aziraphale down with an uncomfortable air of seriousness. “Angel, _Hamlet_ is the best play Shakespeare ever wrote.”

“Darling,” Aziraphale replied, matching Crowley in volume and tone. “You are a terrible liar.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s stomach before pushing himself up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

“How long was I out?” he asked, and Aziraphale glanced outside. 

“No more than a few hours,” he said. “It’s winter, dear boy. You’re naturally going to sleep more.”

“Yes,” Crowley muttered. “Please remind me I’m a demon.”

“I meant you’re cold blooded,” Aziraphale said, frowning. “And I thought we were on our own side.”

Crowley laughed humorlessly. Aziraphale frowned. 

“Doesn’t change that I’m a demon,” he said, eyes going cold. “Dirty, unloveable demon.”

“Stop,” Aziraphale said firmly. “If you’re a demon, I’m a demon.”

“_No,_” Crowley said sharply, lunging forward, fingers tightening around Aziraphale’s wrist. “No, I’d die before I let Hell have you.”

“My love, don’t you think the feeling is mutual?” Aziraphale asked. “What do you think I mean when I tell you I love you?”

“I--” Crowley said, before trailing off, words dying in his throat. His eyes were wide and a little frantic now, and Aziraphale lifted his wrist to press a kiss to the back of Crowley’s hand. Crowley’s breathing hitched. 

“Do you want me to tell you?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley shut his mouth, nodding mutely. Aziraphale gently tugged on Crowley’s arm until he all but melted back into Aziraphale’s embrace, head tucked into Aziraphale’s neck, arms wound tightly around Aziraphale’s body, very much like the snake Crowley didn’t like being. 

Aziraphale stroked fingers through Crowley’s hair, letting him cling as tightly as he wanted. A long moment passed of Crowley’s hitched breathing and Aziraphale’s gentle strokes before Aziraphale finally broke the quiet between them. 

“When I tell you I love you, I mean that I’m sorry,” Aziraphale began, and Crowley went very still, breathing quickening against Aziraphale’s neck. “I mean I’m sorry I spent so long worried about what Heaven would think. I’m sorry I hurt you so many times, all because I wanted approval I should have known I would never get. I mean you never went too fast for me, Crowley, you went the perfect pace and I chose not to keep up.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head, forcing himself to stay composed in order to continue. 

“When I tell you I love you, I mean you’re the only creature, Heaven or Earth, that has always been there. That understands me and respects me and cares for me, all without expecting anything in return. I mean I read quite a bit but I’m not so good with words and with you, it never mattered. When I tell you I love you, I mean that I can’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it, right next to me, until the end of time. I mean that nothing in my life matters as much as you.”

Thunder cracked across the sky, sudden and abrupt. Crowley went impossibly tense, pulling away from Aziraphale with wide, terrified eyes, and Aziraphale shook his head, trying to head off the frantic panic he knew was about to erupt. 

“She heard you!” Crowley hissed, looking around like he expected Hell to rise up and swallow them both, bookshop and all. Aziraphale shook his head again. To be honest (and that was one thing Aziraphale was trying harder to be, was honest, after the whole debacle with the mixed-up Antichrists) he doubted She was listening to anything he was saying. She certainly hadn’t replied in five months. 

And he felt fine, felt no burning, smelled no sulphur or brimstones, didn’t feel his Grace rip away from him like a scab on a not-yet-healed wound. He hadn’t Fallen. He was starting to think She forgot he existed. 

“Crowley,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

Thunder cracked again and Crowley scrambled closer, wings snapping open as if to shield Aziraphale from other demons or even other angels that would attack them. Aziraphale reached up and cradled Crowley’s face. 

“It’s alright, love,” he said gently. “Breathe for me. Nothing is happening. She didn’t hear. I didn’t say anything wrong.”

“No?” Crowley demanded. He was still a little wild-eyed, wings beginning to wrap themselves around Aziraphale now. Aziraphale pressed his lips to Crowley’s, but it didn’t seem to help. “You didn’t say anything wrong? You only said you love me more than Her.”

“That’s not what I said,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I said nothing in my life matters more to me than you. Not only is that not blasphemy, it’s the truth. You know She values the truth most of all.”

“You’re implying She somehow doesn’t mind that the most important person in your life is a _demon_?” Crowley demanded, a hard, self-hating edge to his voice. Aziraphale frowned. 

“I’m not implying,” he said shortly. “I’m _saying._ I haven’t Fallen. No one has come for us. I didn’t say anything wrong.”

“How do you know?” Crowley asked desperately, and Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the curve of his jaw. 

“I don’t believe I said anything wrong,” he said simply. “I don’t believe I have done anything wrong. And I believe that if She thinks I did, She would do something about it. But here I am. And here you are. And my wings are still white.”

He manifested his wings on cue, letting the white feathers settle against the whisper of Crowley’s black feathers. Crowley shuddered a little, and, though his eyes were still wide, some of the tension was bleeding out of his body. 

“How does that work?” Crowley asked hoarsely, avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze until Aziraphale gently took his chin and turned him face to face. “Everything I do, I’m worried She’ll smite me. I’m a _demon_ and I worry about what She thinks.”

“I just believe it,” Aziraphale said, shrugging. “Because I don’t know what to do if I didn’t. No matter what, you’d still be my everything. I just choose to believe it’s what She wants. Or at least She doesn’t mind.”

“How?” Crowley repeated. He closed his eyes, going abruptly still as Aziraphale trailed gently fingers through his feathers, feeling every soft touch , feeling the muscles coiled like Crowley was about to take flight right there, in the bookshop. 

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale finally answered. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Crowley dropped his head into Aziraphale’s shoulder again, wings slowly collapsing and slipping away. The tension continued to bleed from Crowley’s body, so, as he began to sag, Aziraphale wrapped him up tight. 

“You never answered my question,” Crowley said tiredly. Aziraphale made an inquisitive sound. “What were you reading?”

Aziraphale smiled, though he knew Crowley couldn’t see him, and reached for his abandoned book. 

“I’m reading _The Picture of Dorian Gray_,” he said, and Crowley groaned. “Dearest, you were asleep. He was a perfectly lovely man.”

“Right,” Crowley said darkly, but pressed closer to Aziraphale all the same, face still hidden. Aziraphale let the book fall open to where he’d left off, but didn’t start reading again. Instead, he looked at Crowley, all curled up against him, and prayed before he’d really thought about it.

_Lord, I meant every word I said. Well, You know that, I’m sure, but he doesn’t. Somewhere you have to still love him, Lord. He cares for your creatures so deeply--when have You ever seen a demon do that? I don’t know why You cast him out. I’m continuing to believe it was part of the Plan. But after all he’s done? Please give him love, even if You don’t really feel it. _

\----

**six months after**

Crowley hadn’t arrived home yet. 

Well, that in itself wasn’t necessarily worrisome. He’d gone to his flat to retrieve the last of his plants, waving off Aziraphale’s offers of help. 

“It’s just a few, angel, then I want to make sure the flat goes to who I promised it to,” he’d said, and Aziraphale had allowed it. Well, he’d had to allow it, Crowley left no room for argument, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

And with every minute that ticked past the time Crowley should have been back weighed heavily on Aziraphale’s shoulders. It was probably an overreaction. He had probably worried himself into that sick feeling in his stomach, the sinking horror washing over him. It was probably nothing. He would go over there and Crowley would be irritated he couldn’t leave things be. 

_Is he okay?_ he prayed desperately, knees actually hitting the floor, hands clasped in front of him, eyes screwed shut in concentration. _Lord, please, I beg of You. Is he okay? Do I go to him? What’s happening? _

White-hot warmth hit him dead center in his chest, leaving him breathless. He reeled from the sheer force of it, squinting against the bright light that filled his bookshop. Aziraphale heard the soft chorus of angels that followed wherever She went, felt the waves on waves of Holy Light washing over him, invigorating him like new, until all the breath rushed back into his lungs and the light vanished. He blinked against the bright spots in his vision and staggered to his feet, breathing heavily and staring at the figure left behind. 

He’d never seen Her before. He’s heard Her voice, of course, they all had heard Her voice at one time or another, but Aziraphale had never seen Her before, like this. 

This was just a corporation, was no more identical to Her actual appearance than Aziraphale’s corporation was to his, but words died in his throat when he looked at Her, anyway.

She looked quite like Eve, though Her hair tumbled in curls down to Her knees and She was draped in the cloths of Heaven Aziraphale knew so well. Other than that, Eve truly could have been Her daughter. _In God’s own image_ indeed. 

Her dark skin shone like a light was burning within Her, a powerful but deadly light, the light that could smite an angel or a demon where they stood. 

Aziraphale stayed standing. 

“Hello, Aziraphale,” She said, and Her expression was not one of anger, like Aziraphale expected. Instead, it was warm, thoughtful as She took in Aziraphale and her surroundings. “I must say, Gabriel’s reports speak down on your shop. It does not deserve those hateful words.”

“My Lord,” Aziraphale whispered. He should duck his head. He should be on his knees. But Her energy kept him standing still, wide-eyed upon Her as She looked around Her. 

“I sense no evil,” She said. “They tell me you’re cavorting with a demon, but I sense no evil here.”

“He’s-” Aziraphale tried, but once again, the words died in his mouth as She held up a hand. 

“No need, Aziraphale, Principality, the angel I personally assigned to the East Gate,” She said. “Do you know why I assigned you there?”

“No, my Lord,” Aziraphale answered. He was rigid, too scared to move, hardly daring to breathe.

“Because I knew when I created you, you’d have a role in stopping what my renegade angels wanted to start,” She said, like it was the most simple thing in the world. “I wrote my Great Plan knowing I did not want it to occur, and I would have to rely on precious little to make sure it was stopped. You were one. Your demon was another.”

“Lord?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly, but found he could not figure out what he wanted to ask. She Graced him with a small smile, clasping her hands in front of her gently. 

“I knew I would need help from Above and help from Below,” She continued. “I considered making you Fall, but you weren’t a good fit for Hell. You’d never have survived there, not like you survived in Heaven, althought it often isn’t much better. You know that. And those that desired the war, they would not do, either. I needed one like you, but different enough to endure Hell and come out more a person than a demon.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. She smiled again and nodded. 

“Yes,” She said simply. “Although his name wasn’t Crowley, then. I hated taking his name from him, but he was the one I needed Below. And he performed beautifully, though I hear his anguished prayers so frequently I wonder if I laid too much on him.”

“He prays?” Aziraphale asked. She nodded once more. 

“Often,” She said thoughtfully. “Usually concerning you. Which makes me sure I picked the two right people, because more often than not, you pray about him, too. You insist he’s no demon. Well, now you know, don’t you? I didn’t want to punish him. All he did was be curious. But to stop the Apocalypse I knew would happen, he had to Fall.”

“Why are you here?” Aziraphale somehow managed to force himself to ask, knowing the question was rude, but unable to stop. “I mean now, Lord. Why now, after everything?”

“I couldn’t come to you before you averted the Apocalypse,” She said. “No matter how much I wanted to help you. I come now because you’re losing faith. And I do listen, and I am here. So. I came to your bookshop. What did you want to know, Aziraphale of the Eastern Gate?”

“Lord,” Aziraphale whispered. “Is he in danger?”

God did not answer for a moment, taking a long, hard look at Aziraphale before reaching into Her robe and withdrawing a sword. A very familiar sword. He swallowed. 

“I knew you were the right one immediately,” She said. “Because my creations, my children, were facing a brand new world and you gave them all you had so they could be safe. And then you lied to my face about it. You were exactly the angel I needed at the end of the world Aziraphale. You and your demon. To answer your question, he is in danger. You may take this and go to him, but be warned: this may end in pain.”

“For me or for him?” Aziraphale asked. 

“For you, my child,” God replied. Aziraphale held out his hand, shaking but steadfast. All he heard was Crowley was in danger. The risk to him was irrelevant. He would not leave Crowley in harm's way. “Very well.”

The Almighty placed the sword in Aziraphale’s hands where it burst into its familiar flames, the weight steady and sure, like Aziraphale remembered. He gripped the handle tight and swallowed. 

“I reward love whenever I see it,” God said, placing a hand gently on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “And for six thousand years I watched it grow between you two. I can’t tell you if everything will be alright. I can tell you that your love for him is one of the purest things I’ve seen in a long time, Aziraphale.”

“I love him, Lord,” Aziraphale whispered. “I can’t stop loving him.”

The Almighty smiled, soft, radiant light beaming off Her as She cupped Aziraphale’s cheek with Her other hand. 

“If only the rest of Heaven were more like you,” She said softly. “Never stop loving him. Are you ready?”

Aziraphale nodded, back going tense, wings beating at his muscles to be released, and he would, if he needed to, but he needed to sneak in, first. He nodded again and closed his eyes. The Almighty squeezed his shoulder and a rush of air hit him in the face like the Bentley was tearing down the street and Aziraphale had stuck his head outside. 

All at once, the air died down. The Holy presence vanished, silence draped curtains around him. He opened his eyes, face to face with Crowley’s front door, which had been kicked open, the wood in splinters across the hall. 

Aziraphale gripped his sword tighter and stepped inside. 

\-----

**six months, five minutes, and thirty agonizing seconds after**

Aziraphale expected demons. He expected Beelzebub and their other minions, he’d expected hellfire and brimstone, he’d expected to face the worst of hell. 

He didn’t expect Gabriel. 

He was crouched in front of Crowley, who was lying near-motionless on the cement ground. He looked like perhaps Gabriel and Michael and the others Aziraphale could just see around the corner had spent a while beating him. His lip was split, eyes bruised, nose broken, face covered in blood.

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. 

Demon blood was black. It was black like tar, thick and oozing, like what was left of their Holiness after the Fall had congealed. It also stank, like sulphur and rotting flesh. It was an aroma Aziraphale remembered well.

It was lacking on Crowley. 

No, where Crowley’s skin was broken, gold seeped out, the same color that Aziraphale would bleed if he was injured. It wasn’t quite the same; it was much thicker, like paint, and darker gold than normal, but it was definitely not black. 

Gabriel seemed surprised by it, too. Years of serving under Gabriel despite outranking him enabled Aziraphale to know all his expressions well. This one was shock. Gabriel hadn’t planned for a demon’s blood to be closer to an angel’s. 

Aziraphale felt bile rise in his throat as he stepped closer and saw the rest of Crowley lying on the ground. His wings were out--how Gabriel had forced them out didn’t even bear thinking about, at least not right now--and they were broken. It looked like they’d worked over every inch, tearing out soft black feathers as they went, and even there, Crowley bled gold. 

“Surprises around every corner!” Gabriel said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “I admit, I didn’t believe your buddies in the basement when they said Holy Water didn’t work. I dismissed your little angel boyfriend, figured Hell was playing games with us or he’d Fallen without us knowing, but a demon? Immune to Holy Water? Well, you can see our curiosity.”

Crowley didn’t answer, barely even conscious. His eyes blended in startlingly well with the blood on his face, the only part Aziraphale could clearly see were his pupils, dilated with pain. 

“But,” Gabriel said, picking up the glass that was sitting on the floor and throwing it in Crowley’s face before Aziraphale could even react. Crowley didn’t react, either. His skin didn’t singe, he didn’t scream. Aziraphale could sense the Holiness of the water Gabriel had thrown in Crowley’s face, but it dripped off Crowley like rain. 

Gabriel scowled. 

“Now what do we do with you,” he complained. “It’s no fun to torture a demon when the end result doesn’t even work!”

Aziraphale’s grip was white knuckled on the sword. He was shaking with the desire to plunge it into Gabriel’s stomach, to wipe Gabriel from existence once and for all, but the Almighty’s voice in his head insisted he wait. 

“Demon,” Michael said. She knew Crowley’s name. It was a power play. “I will ask one more time and you should think hard about answering me. Your little boyfriend. How is he immune to Hellfire?”

Crowley didn’t answer. Gabriel scowled again and grabbed Crowley by the hair, tilting his head back to look at him straight. 

“Tell us,” he said, like Crowley was a misbehaving child that needed to be punished. “Or we’ll cut your wings off.”

Horror coursed through Aziraphale even as Crowley choked on a tired, pained laugh. He pushed weakly at Gabriel before going limp again. 

“I’d rather die than ever let you hurt him again,” he said hoarsely, and Gabriel smirked. 

“That can be arranged,” he said, just as that quiet, insistent, Holy voice urged Aziraphale forward with a gentle push. 

Aziraphale moved without thinking about it, placing the flaming blade to Gabriel’s throat, watching them all freeze and look up at him, varying expressions of disbelief and horror on their faces. 

All Aziraphale cared about was Crowley. His life, his heart, began and ended with Crowley. 

“I suggest,” he said, voice low and furious. “That if you would like to keep your lives, you stand up, return to Heaven, and never, _ever_ come back to us.”

“Where did you get that sword?” Gabriel asked, fury and fear mixing beautifully in his voice. Aziraphale smirked. 

“It was a gift,” he said. “From the Almighty. She says hello. Last chance.”

“The Almighty would never speak to you,” Gabriel sneered.

“Gabriel, we should go,” Michael spoke up. Her eyes, rightfully, were stuck on the flaming sword still at Gabriel’s throat. “You know what that sword can do.”

“You expect me to believe he’ll raise it against an angel?” Gabriel scoffed. Aziraphale tilted his head. 

“You’re giving me some excellent reasons to do just that,” He said. His voice was forcibly unaffected, bored even, but the rage coiled in his chest burned its way down the sword and he had no doubt Gabriel could sense it. He wasn’t taking any pains to hide it, after all. Why would he? Gabriel deserved none of his respect. None of his deference and fear. Since Gabriel wanted him to burn, Aziraphale had been peeling off the soft, submissive angel he had been. 

This new angel would very gladly kill Gabriel just for the two seconds of pain on Gabriel’s face. 

“Gabriel,” Michael repeated. She had backed up, though, as far as the room allowed her. Clearly, she was the wisest of the archangels.

“Last chance,” Aziraphale said coldly. Gabriel was scowling, glaring at Aziraphale like he could do anything about it. Aziraphale smiled back, sharp and cold, and pressed the blade closer. 

“Alright!” Gabriel shouted. “Enough! Let us go.”

“If you return, there will be no more warnings,” Aziraphale said lowly. “This sword was placed in my hands by the Almighty herself not ten minutes ago. Don’t think for a second she wouldn’t want me to use it.”

“We’re leaving,” Gabriel spat. 

“Goodbye,” Aziraphale said back, and with a soft _pop_, Gabriel and Michael disappeared, presumably back to Heaven to nurse their wounded pride. Good riddance. 

The flames flickered out on the blade as Aziraphale lost focus, turning instead to Crowley, who was still sprawled in a heap on the ground. With a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale miracled the blade to safety, then dropped to his knees beside Crowley. 

“Darling boy,” Aziraphale said, voice cracking. “What have they done to you?”

“Did you just threaten to kill the archangel Gabriel?” Crowley mumbled, clearly still dazed, and Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s hand, which he was clutching in his own. “Did you say you were sent by God?”

“Long story,” Aziraphale said. “Let’s get you up and sorted, shall we?”

“I love you, angel,” Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale squeezed his hand. 

“I love you too, Mr. Not-Quite-a-Demon-Anymore,” he said, and the faint smile he got in return lit up his heart for months. 

\-----

**one year after**

“I had a thought,” Aziraphale said one morning as they drank tea and read the paper like proper humans. Crowley glanced up at him. His eyes had steadily lost their snakelike appearance, bit by bit, and though Crowley could still change into the animal if he tried, it took a lot more effort than it had before. 

Right now they were bright and golden, filled with morning and sunshine, and Aziraphale rested his chin on his hand. 

“Did you now?” Crowley asked. “How very interesting.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“I was _thinking_,” he repeated, emphasizing his words so that Crowley would put his section of the paper down and focus. “It might be nice to get away from London. Well, after centuries living here, it’s starting to get a bit much. What do you think?”

“Angel, I told you we should move three months ago,” Crowley complained, crossing his arms. “You don’t get to take credit for my ideas. _Let’s get out_, I said. _London’s too busy_. My idea, angel.”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale said, in the same way he did when he wasn’t really paying attention but didn’t want to say so. “Anyway, I saw this cottage. Look at all the space it has for a garden, Crowley!”

“You keep encouraging me to get more plants,” Crowley said, narrowing his eyes. “I hope you don’t think I’ll start being nice to them because, for some God known reason, I’ve been _sauntering vaguely upwards_.”

“They’ll grow just as well if you’re kind to them,” Aziraphale said serenely. “The cottage, dear. What do you think?”

“I think if you like it, I’ll like it,” Crowley said. “When were you thinking?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Well, you know.”

Crowley groaned. 

“You’re going to want to go right away,” he predicted, and Aziraphale grinned at him. “You’re the worst.”

“Yes, dear, I love you too,” Aziraphale said, picking the paper back up and grinning madly into it. “We should probably--”

“No.”

“Get a--”

“Don’t say it, angel.”

“Wiggle on,” Aziraphale finished triumphantly, and Crowley groaned into his tea. 

“Hopeless, that’s what you are,” he decided. “Alright, fine. As soon as possible. You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, looking over the top of the newspaper at Crowley with a fond look. “Incredibly so.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, though his cheeks were pink, and picked his section back up again. He cleared his throat, taking a sip of his tea.

“Look at this, angel,” Crowley said, shaking the paper at Aziraphale as if that would help him see. “Do you see what they’ve done now? If only I was still taking credit, this is all genius. They’re thinking it all up themselves!”

Aziraphale watched Crowley gesture dramatically at whatever he was complaining about that morning, animated and bright, face clear of any reminder of Gabriel. Aziraphale knew Crowley’s wings weren’t black anymore, nor were they white. They were a beautiful, dusty grey, a mixture of both. Sauntering vaguely upward sounded accurate, for once. 

_Lord_ he prayed, before he’d really thought much about it. _Thank you for him. _

He took a sip of his tea and a bite of his muffin and sat back to let Crowley vent about the state of the world. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> i'm at smalltalktorture.tumblr.com. comments would be sincerely appreciated! i'm nervous about dipping into a new fandom.


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